His eyes
by Sophie The Shipper
Summary: His eyes spoke to her. Without him saying a word, she always knew. [One-Shot]


**Summary:** His eyes spoke to her. Without him saying a word, she always knew.

 **I don't own The Big Bang Theory or the characters.**

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His eyes.

They reminded me of all the times I went swimming on the lake, when I was a child. They made me think of happy moments of my life. They belonged to him, a happy part of my life. One of the best.

But they didn't always reminded me of lake or sea.

They told me about the weather.

Whenever it was a sunny day, his eyes were a clear blue. His eyes shined, they looked like sapphire and they made my day even better. No matter what. When his eyes were that color I knew my day would be a good day.

If his eyes were grey, the day would be dull and boring. But the weather…

If his eyes were a light grey, the day would start with fog and light rain. But if they were a dark grey, there would be thunderstorms and heavy rain.

He was fine with rain. He enjoyed working with rain outside, it made him happy, for a reason I never found out about. But thunderstorm – he hated it. It wasn't a matter of hating it because it could make the lights go out. He hated the sound of it. And I was never able to help him with it. His best friend would always come and make sure he was okay with it. I never understood why he was scared of it, but we're talking about someone that was scared of fireworks.

His eyes became more tired over the years. He eventually started to wear glasses, making him look even better. I always loved him, but those glasses!

His eyes started to lose their color when he got sick. On a good day, there was a little color blue. Almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

On those days that he didn't know who I was or those days he didn't remember the disease, his eyes were back to that blue on a sunny day. Even the twinkle was there, and it made me smile.

For a few good seconds, until he asked someone who I was. Then, my smile would vanish.

He was never an emotional men. He got better over the years, especially after the birth of our daughter. Maggie. We chose that name because of her light skin color and because she was our little pearl. She was everything to him, and to me. We both loved her with every fiber of out being. Especially when she got sick.

To this day, I remember the little white casket, I still feel his hand clutched to mine. I remember the little white rose his best friend and mine left in her grave. Her favorite flower. The tender age of six. Her eyes, they were blue, like his, but they never lived long enough to lose their sparkle. I still miss her.

But him. He forgot her, from time to time.

But, now, I like to imagine them walking, hand in hand, in heaven. And me? I'm looking at their graves, one with a tiny white rose, a new one every time I go there, and the other with a photo. I take it in my hand, that being new to me.

I look at it. It's clearly an old picture, taken in his old apartment. He's holding Maggie and his best friend is next to him. I remember taking that picture.

I look at it and smile. Easier times.

I fell a touch on my shoulder and turn around. It was someone else. It wasn't my blue eyed soulmate. No. This one had dark chocolate eyes and a wife with eyes the color of the mountains.

I look at him. Age only made him better. My best friend always joked about him being like wine. Gets better with age. I agree.

"I like coming here" he says, out of nowhere. In his hand, there was an old rose, clearly being the one that used to be in my daughter's grave. He sits down and passes his hand on my husband's name.

"Why?" I say sitting next to him. I pass my hand in his name and smile.

"I don't know. Makes me believe he's still here."

I look at him.

"I know. I do the same thing."

He nods. We sit there, in comfortable silence, believing that they were both together, happy.

And it was in that moment I realized that I wasn't alone. I had my friends, that were my family at the same time, and I had memories.

Memories of him, of her, and their eyes, that told me everything without either of them saying a word. I knew they both loved me, and no matter where they were, they were happy. So was I.

His eyes. They always spoke to me. They still do.

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 _ **The end**_

Short story, I know. It sounded better in my head, like it always does. A short Shamy story, without using either of their names, only their daughter's. I always wanted to write a story like this! :)

Hope you all like it!


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